Sitting on the Meat

I cleaned, says Ellen Slezak, opening the door to her West Hollywood apartment. Slezak, 46, has a scrubbed, rosy-cheeked look that her age and her sly sense of humor belie. Her apartment, a roomy, older Craftsman-style flat, is quite tidy and appealing: built-ins, wood floors, yards and yards of books. She shows off her office  in a coat closet  I never close the door, she admits.

The approximately 16 square feet is where Slezak spent three and a half of the last five years writing her new novel, All These Girls. Before that, shed always written stories  which require less sustained closet time. (Her 2002 collection, Last Years Jesus, was critically acclaimed.) Annie Dillard says it takes between two and 10 years to write a novel. So three and a half years . . . God, there were still those parts in the process where I thought, it just wont ever end.

Which parts, for example?

The beginning, the middle and the end.

Slezak has a full, gratifying laugh. Its so hard. A lot of writing is just forcing yourself to put in the hours, the act of sitting your rear in the chair. Theres a German word, Sitzfleisch, its literally sitting on the meat. You gotta, hafta just sit on the meat. She slaps the side of her upper thighs.

Although shes lived in Los Angeles for six years, Slezak grew up in Detroit (a great place to be from, but I dont know how you stay there), and her writing is still Michigan-based. All These Girls is about three women: Candy, a 16-year-old high school basketball star whose mother has recently died; Candys aunt Elizabeth, whos recovering from a tough divorce; and Candys great aunt Glo, a strict Catholic. When Candys basketball coach

is forced to resign  supposedly for sexually abusing her 

Candy quits the school team in disgust. Her aunts, determined

to get her back on the team, scoop her up for a pilgrimage to the Cross in the Woods in Michigans Upper Peninsula  Glos idea. Elizabeth is a dubious participant, and Candy, well, shes not

buying any of it.

Candy came to me as this fierce, strong, reckless, furious girl, Slezak says. I just liked how she felt  fuck you to everybody, everybody. She was messed up and screwed up, but she knew what was real. Its not like she had the answers, I dont even think she thought she had the answers, she just knew Im not going to pretend, Im not going to be polite, Im not going to be civil lots of the time. I liked that about her. Im glad the world is more civil to each other than teenagers are, but I do like the thing I see in them, how they often dont mask just how stooopid you are  and theyre kind of right. Theyll call you on stuff with just a look.

Slezak also knew from the get-go that Candy would be an athlete. I had the choice which sport she would play. I know basketball really well, and love it. There are so many different layers and levels to it.

Indeed. Slezak writes about basketball not only with in-depth knowledge but with lyric, muscled, energized prose  she captures the physicality and psychology, the poetry and sheer action of the game as only a knowing practitioner, and excellent writer, can.

Im an old jock, Slezak admits. I played sports as a young girl in high school. While writing the book, she went regularly to West Hollywood Park on Sundays, where, she says, There was a really great womens game. She didnt play  not with those women. I wasnt great when I did play. But I can go out there and just shoot around as a 46-year-old woman and not disgrace myself.